


Bloody Mary Epilogue

by Sam4265



Series: Inverse Operations [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Older Sibling Sam Winchester, Younger Sibling Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 03:48:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10733517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sam4265/pseuds/Sam4265
Summary: Bloody Mary Epilogue, in which Dean is eighteen, and Sam is twenty-two.





	Bloody Mary Epilogue

When Sam finally opened the door to their motel he was about ready to pass out. He had to admit, Bloody Mary wasn’t something he’d been expecting to ever see. He’d also admit that bleeding from the eyes wasn’t exactly pleasant. He glanced at Dean, who looked bone tired and also had blood smeared all over his face. For some reason Dean had started to bleed as well when Mary had climbed out of the mirror and gone after them both. Sam didn’t know whether that meant Dean had a secret of his own, or whether it was just the result of Mary’s enhanced abilities because she’d become corporeal. Sam grabbed Dean’s shoulders and steered him toward the bathroom.

“Sam, I’m tired. I just want to sleep.” Dean whined in full on little brother mode. 

“Too bad, I’m getting the blood off of your face first.” When they got to the bathroom Sam grabbed one of the cheap motel towels and held it under the sink. He wrung the towel out and turned back to Dean. He looked incredibly tired and the blood all over his face only made his appearance look frightening. Sam grimaced and started to gently wipe away the blood under Dean’s eyes. Once Dean realized what Sam was doing however, he batted Sam’s hands away. 

“I can do it myself you big girl.” Dean grabbed the towel and started to viciously rub his face until the blood was gone. His face ended up red and slightly swollen and Sam sighed. That had been exactly what he was trying to avoid.  

“Whatever, just go to bed Dean.” Dean walked out of the bathroom grumbling about demon girls and having a big sister named Samantha. Sam rolled his eyes and looked at himself in the mirror. He looked awful. Though his eyes were clear there were thick trails of bright red dried blood trailing from them. Sam rewet the towel and gently started to wipe away the blood. He wanted to scrub at his face, to wipe away the evidence of his sin. He’d thought for the longest time that he’d let Jessica die. Maybe he had, but he wasn’t sure what he thought about that anymore. Part of him was sure he couldn’t have stopped it, but part of him... Part of him wasn’t so sure. He’d had dreams of Jessica dying before it had happened. He didn’t want to think about the context of that, what it would mean for him. Was he some kind of psychic? Was it because of his mom? Sam almost didn’t want to know. But he did. He wanted to know why the hell he’d had a dream that had foretold his girlfriend’s death. 

What if he had another one and he ignored it thinking it was just a dream? What if something happened to Dean because Sam ignored it? But what if vice versa, nothing happened and he panicked over nothing? Sam scrubbed his hands down his face. It was too confusing, too annoying to think about. Right now Sam was tired, and all he wanted to do was go to sleep. He didn’t want to dream or think. He just wanted the blissful nothingness that came with sleep. 

When Sam finally left the bathroom he immediately checked on Dean. Dean was asleep, and it seemed like he’d just fallen onto the bed and passed out because he was fully clothed and on top of the covers. Sam rolled his eyes, but like a dutiful big brother he pulled off Dean’s boots and jacket before covering him with the cheap motel sheets. Sam sat there looking at Dean for a few moments longer, checking his face for any remnants of blood, and just generally making sure he was okay. Physically at least, Sam didn’t even want to think about what the bleeding eyes would mean for Dean’s mental health.

Sam stripped off his jeans and jacket and pulled on a pair of drawstring sweatpants before finally crawling into bed. It had been a task learning how to sleep like this after so many nights of just passing out fully clothed and bloody in motel beds. It would be a task to stop doing it too Sam knew. But to be honest, he didn’t really want to stop. The sweatpants would forever be more comfortable than jeans and sleeping under the covers was warmer.  

Sam ended up sleeping better than he had in weeks, much to his surprise. He’d been in such a blissful sleep that he wasn’t sure why he suddenly heard rustling. It sounded like someone was thrashing around in their bed. He was completely confused. It wasn’t him, but it didn’t exactly feel like a dream either. He decided to ignore it and figure it out in the morning. He’d just been drifting off to sleep again when he heard the unmistakable sound of someone falling out of bed, and a pain-filled moan. Sam’s eyes shot open; Dean. 

“Dean?” His only answer was a groan. Sam threw off the covers and, in his desperation to get to his brother, didn’t notice the body lying in between the beds until he stepped on it. Dean yelped and Sam jumped back onto his bed.

“Dean? Jesus, what the hell man?” 

“Well you did step on me sasquatch.” Sam rolled his eyes. He grabbed Dean’s arms and helped him up, then sat him down on the bed. Sam inspected Dean. There was tension in his body and stress in his eyes. Sam remembered the rustling he’d heard earlier. Dean had been having a nightmare apparently. Sam was suddenly taken back to just a few hours ago. He remembered the blood that had leaked out of Dean’s eyes in steady streams. Apparently Dean did have a secret, and now it was eating at him. What would Dean have possibly done to get somebody killed? Dean wasn’t like that.

“Dean, what happened?” Sam asked. Dean looked at him for a split second, before looking away and rubbing a spot on the back of his head. 

“I think I hit my head on the table.” Sam sighed. That wasn’t what he’d meant.

“Let me see.” Sure enough there was a small bump on the back of Dean’s head. 

“Hold on, let me get some ice.” Sam grabbed one of the towels from the bathroom and stepped outside to the ice machine. He came back and put the towel on Dean’s head. Dean hissed at the cold and grabbed the ice from Sam. 

“Thanks.” 

“No problem.” Sam decided to wait a minute before asking Dean again about the dream. He didn’t know what Dean could possibly be blaming himself for, but whatever it was Sam was sure it was stupid and not his fault. Dean blamed himself for almost every bad thing that happened. Sam wasn’t entirely sure why, it definitely had something with the lack of praise he received as a child, but somewhere somehow he’d picked up the idea that everything bad that happened to another person in his presence was his fault. Sam had tried to talk him out of it, but Dean wouldn’t budge. Maybe beating it out of him would be effective. 

“Dean, you know I’ve got to ask, what was the dream about?” Dean didn’t look at him.

“It was nothing.” 

“Was it the reason your eyes were bleeding after Mary attacked us?” Dean still wasn’t looking at him. 

“Dean, tell me.” Sam said in his most John Winchester like voice. He had to admit he could do a pretty damn good impression of their Dad when he wanted to. And aside from freaking him the hell out, it came in handy.

“You won’t understand.” Dean mumbled. He huffed a laugh. “Or you actually might hit me.” Sam frowned, what could Dean possibly say that would make Sam want to hit him?

“Dean, I’m never going to hit you okay man, not unless you do something stupid like start the apocalypse.” Sam almost laughed at the absurdity of the comment. Like either of them would ever start the apocalypse. “Whatever it is you can tell me.” Dean sighed and sat up so he was facing Sam and looking him dead in the eye.

“The year after you left, I was on a hunt in Oklahoma over winter break. It was the ghost of this guy called Ron Edgar. He was killing people that looked like his wife because she’d cheated on him back in the day. She wasn’t dead, but she was two states away. So he kept killing these people that looked like her. Bones were cremated already so I had to look for something else. Turned out his granddaughter, who lived in town, had a locket that had her grandfather and her grandmothers hair in it. I know it was weird, but whatever floats your boat right?” Dean paused for a moment and took a deep breath. “Dad had been there for the beginning of it, but after we figured out the granddaughter had the remains he got a call from a hunter friend of his up in Philadelphia who’d walked right into a pack of werewolves by accident. Dad had to leave so he told me to finish the Ron Edgar job on my own.” Sam tensed but didn’t respond. Dean already knew the well-worn words that were on the tip of his tongue. You were too young. Sam didn’t let himself say it; he knew how Dean would respond. A weary sigh and a look that Sam didn’t want to see on his little brother’s face on top of everything else. 

“So Dad was gone and I went to the granddaughters place to get the locket. The ghost showed up to try and stop me as usual. But something was wrong. This ghost, it was way more powerful than it should have been. It kept coming at us, the granddaughter and I, and it was so persistent. Threw me into more than a couple walls and beat me up pretty good. It even tried to set the house on fire. I had the necklace, I was two seconds away from burning it and getting rid of that son of a bitch once and for all when he set the house on fire. We were in the kitchen, and I tried to get the granddaughter out but the floor caved in. I saw it caving and I grabbed the sink. I tried to grab her too, but my arms weren’t long enough and I couldn’t reach her. She died Sam. I got her killed.” Dean looked at Sam then. His eyes were unnaturally green as they shined with tears Dean would never shed. He looked sad, and angry, but more than anything he looked guilty. Sam started to say something but Dean cut him off. 

“Don’t try to convince me I didn’t Sam. I know what I did, and I’m guilty as hell, but I’ve made my peace with it. I don’t need any of your Dr. Phil crap.” Dean gave Sam a small smile and Sam snorted a laugh.

“Good to know, no more Dr. Phil crap, scout’s honor.” Sam raised the three finger salute and Dean decided to ignore the fact that Sam had never been a boy scout in honor of rolling his eyes. There were ten seconds of silence before Sam opened his mouth again.

“But…” Dean groaned and face planted into the pillow. 

“What?” Came the muffled reply. 

“But I want to make sure you aren’t carrying this with you Dean. If it’s anyone’s fault it's Dad’s for leaving you alone to face a poltergeist when you were just sixteen. You could also blame the poltergeist. You know, the thing that actually killed the girl?” Sam said, keeping all sarcasm out of his voice. Dean peeked up from the pillow for a second to look at Sam. He then rolled his eyes and decided to sit up. He was quiet for a few seconds before responding. 

“I don’t really blame myself anymore.” Sam was taken aback. He knew how much blame Dean liked to give himself. 

“You don’t?” Sam asked, doubt filling his words. Dean raised an eyebrow at him and Sam shrugged. Dean rubbed the back of his neck with one hand.

“I mean I do. I should have been able to save her, should’ve reached for her sooner, or made sure she was holding on to something at all times, but what happened with that poltergeist eventually stopped bothering me. It’s just another screw up on my resume, and it just meant that next time I faced off against a poltergeist I had to do better. I had to make up for what happened to the granddaughter. Really the only reason it even came back up was because it just happens to be a secret. It’s not like it’s a secret I would die to protect. It’s more a secret because Dad never asked about it then because I didn’t tell him anything.” Dean admitted slowly. Sam understood immediately. Something bothered him about that though.

“Dad never asked you about it?” He asked, slightly confused. Dean’s cheeks flushed. He was obviously embarrassed.

“Well when he got back he asked me if the ghost was taken care of and I told him it was. But that was the last we spoke of it. He never brought it up again, and the next day we stopped in Nevada for a witch hunt. He left again about two weeks later and that was that. I started getting really nervous that he knew about what happened to the granddaughter and was just waiting for the right moment to spring a punishment on me. But he never talked about it and eventually I just figured either he didn’t know or he didn’t care. I guess what happened with Mary means he didn’t know.” Dean finished by staring at his hands. Sam felt a fresh wave of anger toward John. He hadn’t asked Dean about the hunt he’d been on alone. He didn’t know the details of what had happened to his son while he was gone. It made Sam angry that he didn’t even want to know. That he didn’t even ask. Anything could have happened to Dean, and in this case something had. He’d been tossed around by a poltergeist, and someone had died. That was definitely something John should have known about. It was obvious that back then right after the hunt the granddaughter’s death had eaten Dean up inside. John should have been there to console Dean, to tell him he wasn’t a murderer, and that it wasn’t his fault. 

“When the hunt ended, were you hurt?” Sam asked. His voice was tense and dangerous, like he was ready to explode if he got the wrong answer. Which he was, but he didn’t want to explode on Dean. 

“Yes.”

“Did he patch you up?” Dean gave him a look, but Sam just raised his eyebrows. 

“Yes Sam, he stitched me up just fine. Even gave me a hello kitty band aid.” Dean replied sarcastically. Sam huffed.

“I needed to make sure Dean. It’s my job to look after you. I know I neglected it for a while, which is why I want to know somebody else was doing it, even if it was a piss poor version of it.” Sam said earnestly. Dean sighed. 

“Thanks Sammy. But I thought I said no more Dr. Phil crap?” The first sentence had been honest, and because of that Sam could handle Dean’s sarcasm. 

“True enough. So, you want breakfast?” Sam asked. Dean grinned a megawatt grin. Food had always been the way to his heart. 

“Hell yeah! Let’s blow this joint and get our asses to the nearest diner pronto. My stomach feels like it's gonna cave in.” Sam laughed and glanced at the clock. It read five am, which meant that Dean had fallen awake sometime during the last hour. Sam figured five am was a suitable breakfast time, even though four am wasn’t a suitable time to wake up.

“We’re gonna need to drop Charlie off first though.” Sam said as Dean walked into the bathroom. 

“I know. Go wake her up would you?” Dean called back through the door.

SPN

When they pulled up to Charlie’s house Dean shut off the engine and turned around to face Charlie.

“So this is really over?” She asked, though it was more of a statement then it was a question. Dean nodded.

“Yeah it’s over.”

“Thank you.” She said honestly. Dean reached over and put a hand on her knee to reassure her. She smiled and opened the door. She started to walk away when Sam stopped her. He’d been thinking about everything that happened. His own secret, Dean’s secret, Charlie’s. They’d all been surrounding death, but he figured Dean had it right. You couldn’t blame yourself for ever. No matter how horrible it is or how at fault you seem to be.

“Charlie?” She turned to look back at him. 

“Your boyfriend’s death, you really should try to forgive yourself. No matter what you did, you probably couldn’t have stopped it. Sometimes bad things just happen.” Okay so maybe he was thinking more about his own situation than Dean’s but the advice was still good. Charlie smiled slightly at him, before turning around and walking back to her house. Dean smacked him in the shoulder and Sam turned around.

“That’s good advice.” He said; the intimation to take his own advice clear. Sam give him a small smile which Dean returned before starting the car once more. 

They started to drive out of town toward the first diner they saw when Dean spoke again.

“Hey Sam?” Dean asked, his eyes not straying from the road.

“Yeah?”

“Now that this is all over, and now that I’ve spilled my guts to you, I’m kind of curious. What was that secret? The one that made you sure Mary was going to come after you?” Dean asked seriously. Sam guessed this was probably where he let his little brother in on his psychic visions and how he knew about Jessica’s death before it happened. He wanted to, but at the same time he didn’t. He was supposed to look after Dean, not the other way around. He was supposed to help and console his little brother with his problems, not dump his own on Dean. He didn’t want Dean to know. He didn’t want to give him another thing to worry about. Sam decided to swear to himself that unless Dean absolutely needed to know, he wouldn’t know. 

“Look, you’re my brother, and I’d die for you. But there are some things I need to keep to myself.” Sam looked at Dean then. Dean was looking at him with those big green eyes shining with hurt and a little bit of anger. Sam understood. Dean had let Sam in on his big bleeding eyes secret, and now Sam was refusing to share his own. If the roles had been reversed Sam would be pissed too. Dean didn’t respond, just looked back to the road, his face now stoic and void of all emotion. Sam should probably be more worried about that, but at the moment he was too content with himself to worry too much. 

He glanced out the window and his small smile fell away immediately. There, standing at the corner in a white dress was Jessica. Her blonde hair was gold in the sunlight and the dress was billowing softly in the breeze. Her eyes followed Sam as he passed, her expression never changing. His eyes never wavered from her beautiful face, and when she finally disappeared he kept staring at the spot she’d been standing in. Sam couldn’t bring himself to look at Dean, or even try to figure out what it meant that he’d seen her. He just blinked a few times and swallowed any potential ideas down. He couldn’t be thinking about this, not now. Not anymore.


End file.
